Wednesday, January 27, 2010

"Oh, well, let me tell you about the Roxy curse and the antiques show Saturday. I've been yelling at that bitch all weekend."

I'd sort of thought a psychologist—even though I've been with her for 10 years now and we have more than a patient-doc relationship—wouldn't give much credence to the afterlife and her patient yelling at her dead grandmother.

Just the opposite.

"I had a friend who gave my family a whole bunch of stuff from the Czar of Russia, Nicholas or whoever, you know who I'm talking about. And all of these gifts were given in good conscious."

"Right."

"But one of the things was this priceless, heavy, three foot high [vase or something like that]. And when this woman gave it to me she said, 'Now you'd BETTER make sure it doesn't get stolen!'"

I think Dr. L lives in the 90210; so you know, I'm sure a cat burglar is scoping out that pristine, cop-patrolled area. (If you know the city of BH, well, it's like, pretty fucking safe.)

So anyway, this lady gave her this object, and for years Dr. L. had it displayed prominently—ready for the robbers' taking! Then they had to move out of the house for a few months, so she packed it up and has since not unpacked it yet. 'Gifts' given in such a spirit—not so great, no matter how priceless they are.

"Would you ever just donate it to a museum?"

"I've thought about it and been approached, but one of my son's friends accidentally broke off one of the ivory bits so it's not museum quality anymore."

"Okay. Interesting."

"So this Roxy Curse—"

"I swear I think she's in Hell, cursing me. Mom agrees. So, yeah, I was walking around the house yelling at her and telling her to 'bring it on, biatch.'" Actually, I think I called her a cunt. That's more appropriate.

"Well, if she is a spirit visiting you and 'fucking with you' getting angry at her is what she wants. So what you need to do is just let her go. Get her out of your life."

"I've already saged the fuck out of this place."

"So if that's not working for you, then you're just going to have to mentally get rid of her."

"I can do that. I can ignore Roxy. I can totally do that."

Easy peasy, right? So I'm henceforth ignoring the hateful and haunting spirit of Roxy. Take that, GRANDMA! (We were forbidden from calling her anything but Roxy.)

Wherever you are, you're not in my life anymore. What kind of spirit hangs around for SEVENTEEN years fucking with her family? An evil one, for damn sure. Unwittingly to her—and perhaps this has something to do with her recent spirit shenanigans—she's brought me around to one of my cousins. Who is the bomb and whom I'll meet for the first time in NY in two weeks. I'll bet you one of her beloved baubles that she's petrified that I'm going to get even more information on her from Will. His grandpa and my great-grandpa were brothers. And he says he's heard some crazy Roxy stories too. Sooo, anyway, aside from her precious 'things,' connecting with Will could just be the best thing Roxy's ever been responsible for. Except birthing my mom and aunt of course.

To this day—since Roxy had a mean old potty mouth directed at her children—Mom never curses. Like never. She'll say 'darn it all.' Or something along those lines. Now, my mom is super-sweet, but she can bitch along with the rest of us like any proper Jewess. But can you imagine having the restraint never to curse? Fuck—you all know I can't. I think fuck is perhaps the best word ever—oh so versatile!